


Faithful Deceits

by WindStainedDreams



Series: Hello Again, My Dear Friend (AKA FEA Rarepair Hell) [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence, F/F, FE Femslash Week 2019, Fire Emblem Femslash Week 2019, Other characters are mentioned but don't really make an appearance, What even is chronological order, in case it wasn't obvious, nothing extreme but archive warnings do apply, rarepair hell, rarepairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18072137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindStainedDreams/pseuds/WindStainedDreams
Summary: Life had not been kind to Tharja before Emmeryn.When Tharja does the unimaginable and joins the Shepherds, her life changes in ways even she could not have predicted.  Nothing she had ever learned could have prepared her for what came after her incredible decision.It turns out that all devotion leads to the same place.





	Faithful Deceits

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fandom, did ya miss me? Its been far too long. 
> 
> This is the first installment in my series for FE Femslash Week 2019. As is traditional, I will be doing only rarepairs. (Because I love myself that much.) 
> 
> If you need any more information about the warnings before reading, check the endnote.

 

 

 

_Treachery_

 

“You didn’t think you were the only one so devoted even the bonds of love could be broken, did you?”

 

It might have hurt less if it were a sneer, spat at her in anger or contempt.  It may have hurt less as a triumphant jeer, the way she would have said it when the time came.  It _could_ have hurt less, cut less deeply, but as it stood the gentle admonishment, patiently chiding, speared her to her core.  A core long thought dead by more than one.  A core devoted to Grima (and so the same as dead).  A heart so empty, it should not be devastated in this way. 

Tharja really should not have been so surprised at the betrayal.  After all, it was a part of her plan, too.  A part the sorcerer had thought she had come to terms with.  She had been ready to act upon it when called.  Lies and deceit were more natural to her than breathing.  Perhaps it was the fact that Tharja _should_ have seen the treachery coming that enraged ~~shamed~~ her the most.  In the end, Emmeryn of House Ylisse was nothing if not devoted to her people and their god.  More devoted to them than to her _wife_. 

Pale hands shook as they tried to reach for a tome, only to freeze at Emmer – no, _the Exalt’s_ – sigh.  It was then that the sorcerer remembered how just that morning, in their soft bed warmed by the glowing morning sun, she had been showing the blonde sage how she cast Aversa’s Night.  Now Tharja had to wonder if she’d contributed to her own demise in other ways.  It was quite likely, with how thorough the Exalt was in everything she did.  She’d been so careless!

The light blinded her, flashes so vivid her eyes watered.  The purple haze filling her vision made it hard to see, not tears.  The lack of air had to be from the spell, the weakness as she fell to her knees nothing but her life being drained.  She detachedly pondered the ache in her chest, probably just her heart trying to beat through the spell.  She was supposed to be immune to such pathetic emotional weaknesses, after all.  Dimly, Tharja wondered if this would finally be her death. 

 

**~**

_Fall_

Emmeryn looked out over the crowd of armed forces, soldiers and mercenaries alike, that waited for her below.  She knew that no matter what she did today, now, more blood would be spilt before the sun reached the horizon.  No matter the outcome, her action would not stop all death.  There was still a chance that Naga would bless her one last time.  The Divine Dragon could help the Exalt shape the impact of her actions, influence the future.  With half an ear turned towards Gangrel’s mad sputtering, the sage began to pray.

‘Blessed Naga, Most Divine Dragon, although you still sleep, your Exalted needs you.  Hear me and guide my words, that they may pierce any armour, uncloud any mind.  Let my words echo, so that all may come to see your Light.  Blessed Naga, Most Divine…’

Soon enough, Emmeryn could see the Shepherds heading across the sand, slowed by their heavy armour and their horses.  They would not arrive in time to stop anything, not really, but their presence would hopefully strengthen Naga’s echo.  Emmeryn took to reciting her prayer under her breath, lips barely moving.  She could feel Aversa’s eyes on her, watching.  Always studying, dissecting.  Aversa was a mystery, more of a threat than the Mad King would ever be.  It was a small hope, but a hope nonetheless, that what the sage planned today might eliminate the dark flier as well. 

The Shepherds closed in, Chrom and Lissa at the fore, Frederick and Robin not far behind.  There were some new faces among the group, people Emmeryn had not seen her brother sway to their cause.  Already Naga’s influence could be felt.  The Exalted drew others to them when filled with divine power.  A pale face surrounded by dark hair stood out, eyes a startlingly pale glow even at this distance.  No matter. It was time.  A pretty face could not distract her now. 

Her prayer to Naga filled her mind as the Exalt took the final steps, tore the choice from Gangrel’s (or even Robin’s) hands and into her own more deftly than any healer removing an arrowhead.  Her brother and sister were watching, pleading.  The tears in Lissa’s eyes did not matter compared to the power Naga would gain today. 

Emmeryn stepped over the edge. 

 

**~**

 

_Visit_

The knock on the door made Chrom jump in his seat and he took a deep breath before calling out, “Come in!” 

He’d been so engrossed in his letters and reports; fading evening light honeyed the room.  Darkness crept in and the fire burned low in his hearth.  Flames made shadows dance as quickly as his heartbeat as the door was pushed open. 

“Sister!  You should be resting!” Chrom rushed to her side and guided her farther into the room, to the soft chairs by the fire.  “Did the healers truly let you go?”

Emmeryn would have tried to hide it from anyone other than her brother, but she was grateful to be sitting down.  Although the journey from the royal infirmary was not long, situated as it was in their wing to ensure privacy, the Exalt was tired.  The blonde sage settled back into the chair, feeling the fire warm her right hand.  Chrom sat down facing her, Falchion’s hilt reflecting the warm glow.  The light dimmed as the sun set, but neither sibling wanted to rise to light more candles than those that sat on Chrom’s desk. 

While Chrom might pretend to only care about running around with the Shepherds, he was intelligent and caring.  Nothing would sway him, and he would have been more than capable of ruling Ylisse if Emmeryn’s plan had happened as she had envisioned it.  He had already been managing many of her duties for her as she recovered, and the sage appreciated the help. 

“They did,” she replied eventually, voice soft. “But I’m sure that they’ll come find me soon enough, try and get me to lay down again.  I had some questions for you, Brother, that I would like to ask before that happens.”

Chrom nodded, leaning forward to match his sister’s careful tone.  He could feel Emmeryn study him a moment before she began. 

“That dark mage, the one who saved me.  What has Robin found out about her?”

 

**~**

 

_Union_

 

Emmeryn subtly brushed her fingers against the pale green and white lace that covered her.  It was so fine, so soft that it was hard to resist petting herself in front of the crowd.  It would not do to become too carried away.  Lissa was trying hard not to snicker behind her, so Emmeryn knew that something of her nerves must be showing no matter what. 

The doors at the far end of the chamber opened and two women stepped out, arm in arm.  Tharja had asked Robin to walk her down the aisle during their wedding, as she had no father and no closer friend.  The Grandmaster had agreed and together they made a stunning sight.  Emmeryn was sure that Chrom would tease her endlessly about the expression on her face, but Tharja had been keeping her wedding dress a secret.  There was no way to not find it stunning. 

A dusty rose cape fell from the sorcerer’s shoulders, sweeping behind her in a train.  Her robe was of sheer black fabric, edged in gold shaped leaves darkened only barely in places too intimate for anyone but Emmeryn to see.  The intricate golden designs and patterns drew Emmeryn’s eye to those hidden places, and the thought of freeing her wife from the robes was enough to make Emmeryn wish that the ceremony was already over.  From the look on Tharja’s face as Robin led her up the dais to face the Exalt, Tharja had wanted it this way. 

The priest began the ceremony with their vows, and Emmeryn echoed them passionately, focused on her beautiful wife and the loving joy in those periwinkle eyes. 

**~**

 

_Studied_

It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to Tharja that she was so carefully observed since her arrival in Ylisstol.  Her small room in the barracks assigned to the Shepherds was farthest away from the nobility among the group, and its location next to the bathing rooms meant that frequent traffic would not be out of place.  The suspicion, that was warranted.  She had been a loyal member of the enemy’s forces not a fortnight ago.  Loyalties did not change completely overnight.  Still, her room was private and warm, and better than a cell. 

Not by much, of course. 

Tharja had what items had been on her person, and any she had “confiscated” on the battlefield.  Some of the items that were useless to her, like the axes or staves, the Plegian had freely given to the armory and healers for further use by those who needed them.  The gold and tomes, of course, she kept.  Even though there seemed to be few restrictions placed on Tharja, it seemed prudent to not flaunt her powers or abilities just yet. 

It was for that very reason that Tharja limited herself to only carrying her Flux around with her.  Worn and half used, it would offer her some measure of protection without being seen as overtly threatening.  Of course, plenty of the Shepherds still avoided interacting directly with her or meddling in her affairs.  They watched from a distance and whispered, always approaching her in groups (and at least one person was armed, Tharja noted drily).  Eyes always following, making the hairs on the back of Tharja’s neck stand on end in warning (as they well should, hexed as they were).  Not even the monk recruited at the same time as her bothered trying to speak with her more than a few times a week, although he dared to speak with her alone.  The talisman to repel unwanted distractions must still be working, even if it had cracked fighting off the Plegian forces.  She’d have to make a new one soon.  Or maybe not, isolation wouldn’t work in her favour much longer… and didn’t that just chafe like poorly fitted leather trousers.  Fraternizing with the enemy as if they were all friends playing at soldiers in the woods on a summer night.  The dark mage shuddered at the thought. 

The most staring was from the young princess.  Her youthful face was too open, too revealing and Tharja barely had to resort to any kind of charm to understand the fear and curiosity, the awe in those eyes.  Lissa always tried to start a conversation with the Plegian mage, but Frederick was often at her side, glaring distrustfully, and Lissa would scare like a rabbit far too frequently to accomplish anything but to annoy their newest recruit.  The impression of a scrambling deer made it hard to resist chuckling when it happened.  The amusement lasted only so long as it took to remember that Lissa was not the exalted sister she wanted to see.

The person who observed her second most was the strange tactician.  Apparently, there was a story about her, a reason that they all trusted the snow-haired woman.  So far, Tharja had been unable to draw out the full tale in any of the aborted conversations she had with the Shepherds.  Regular guards, easily seduced by her body, did not know any of the details and were not present at whatever transpired to gain the Shepherds’ trust, and had therefore quickly become useless to her.  Tharja was not unaware of how many of the Shepherds (men _and_ women alike, and wasn’t that a thrill in hidden places), even the ones who kept their distance, admired her form.  Still, it would not be wise to begin something with people who barely trusted her, and whom she would kill without question when the time came.  Stilted conversations would have to be enough information for now.  A plan was a plan. 

Robin would watch her with those changling eyes, brown in sunlight, grey in shade and never quite what they were before.  They were intent and focused in a way that was perhaps only ever matched by the mage studying whatever caught her attention this week.  Of all of them, Robin was the only one unafraid to have a conversation with Tharja.  They could talk about anything, and Tharja had probably spilled more than she had intended to so soon when small trinkets that reminded her of home started appearing in her room.  The reminder that privacy was a privilege and not a certainty tangled with the knowledge that Robin may have become the dark mage’s first ever friend.  It had taken such a short time, too.  Whatever it was that simmered under the surface of the amnesiac, it had hooked Tharja well.  It was simply too delicious to pass up. 

Obviously, Robin was incredibly busy with her position as the royal tactician.  They were still at war with Plegia, even with the Exalt’s miraculous survival.  Gangrel had escaped after Emmeryn’s fall, hiding in the wilderness somewhere.  Chrom would stop at nothing until the Mad King’s head was rotting upon a pike for the insult he had done to Ylisse.  The fall of the Exalt had been known the continent over in days, and no one dared to shake up the peace any more than it was.  Ferox had pledged soldiers to help roust the crazed monarch when the time came, but they had not yet arrived and so the kingdom recovered from the first campaign and it prepared, Robin at the helm.  Tharja couldn’t wait to see battle once more.  Maybe Emmeryn would lead the charge next to her brother.   

 

**~**

 

_Waking Up_

 

Tharja woke slowly, mind foggy in a way that it hadn’t been since her parents taught her how to fight off curses as a child.  It would be fitting, as they had never quite unleashed these tomes upon their daughter, neither the life-draining Nosferatu or the more powerful variant she had been hit with.  There was a heaviness, as if Tharja were thinking through mud.  Her brain was pressing into her skull, a pressure so intense she was sure the bone was cracking.  Her limbs were clouds, floating far way from her existence on the dirt floor.  If her arms moved at all, they were as effective as mist in changing her surroundings or her condition. 

Emmeryn would come for her. 

 

**~**

_Bed_

 

The candles burned low, guttering in the melted wax.  The firelight had also burned down to embers, giving the air a dark heat that reminded Tharja of the desert at night, before the moon rose and brought the cold.  The memory made her shiver and Tharja turned over to watch the woman still working by the window. 

“Come to bed, my love.”

It was still new, saying that.  Sometimes, Tharja would do it simply because she could.  There was a swooping feeling somewhere beneath her ribs each time Emmeryn responded with a smile, a laugh or the same words.  The dark mage, soon to be sorcerer, wanted the warmth of her lover’s presence next to her in their bed.  Tomorrow was a big day, after all. 

The blonde sage looked up from the papers on her desk.  The pale green eyes traced over Tharja’s figure, lingering in all the places Tharja had made sure were eye-catching, even for a devout lady such as her partner.  The blushing that resulted had become second nature.  Smooth as the silks of her robes, the Exalt rose to her feet and blew out the candle, leaving the room in darkness.  Suddenly, Emmeryn felt much closer than the desk.  Emmeryn _always_ chased away the cold. 

Unable to see as her eyes got used to the minimal light, Tharja’s breathing accelerated.  She accentuated her curves as she shifted on the bed, moving the sheets over her body.  The soft rasp of silk falling made the patter of Tharja’s heart increase again.  It wasn’t long and yet the Plegian still startled when the bed dipped and gentle hands caressed her.  Soft lips met hers and Tharja wasted no time pinning the most powerful woman in Ylisse under her.  They still had plenty of time to amuse themselves before dawn. 

 

**~**

_Vision_

 

For a moment, Tharja wondered if she had somehow conjured a vision, perhaps mis-made a potion she’d ingested.  The Exalt rarely came to the Shepherds’ barracks and certainly no one expected her so soon in her recovery.  Tharja blinked at the gentle smile on soft pink lips (how did she know they would be soft, what was this madness?) and could do nothing but come as the extended hand bid her. 

This was her doing, twisted up inside herself somehow as punishment.  Emmeryn’s words on the cliff that day had shaken something up inside Tharja’s fractured soul, and now, having saved her, there could be no resistance.  It had been a matter of heartbeats to decide to save the falling woman when she stepped over the edge.  Tharja would never be able to recreate the effect, for no tome contained that power, she must have been possessed by Grima to suck the life out of the archers and feed it back not into herself, but the woman who had begged them to end the bloodshed.  Whatever the hex or curse had been, Tharja could not get the blonde sage out of her mind. 

As thin hands bushed and pale fingers tangled, Tharja felt that same flutter in her breast as when she had watched the sage fall.  It did not occur to the dark mage that touching the Exalt like this was probably a crime.  It would not have mattered, as book softened skin pressed against hers, smoothed by hexes.  Tharja would have almost said that she could hear her skin whisper against the sage’s if not for how loudly her heart was beating in her ears. 

“Come, I have something I want to share with you.”

The first words broke Tharja’s daze enough to send a shiver down her spine.  The dark mage returned her focus to the words the Exalt was speaking, instead of focusing on how their hands had not yet parted. 

“Robin was going to show you, but she had to leave on patrol and I find myself pleased that I can be the one to share this with you,” the sage continued, ignoring the startled look on Tharja’s face with – fondness?  No.  Something else. 

The Exalt led the way through the common areas, past the mess hall and the infirmary, ignored the loud hissing smoke wafting from the red-haired mages laboratory.  The only place left in the Shepherds’ compound was the armoury.  Through the heavy wood and steel doors Tharja could see tables where weapons were cleaned, repaired and a corner where they could be forged.  Each type of weapon had its own chamber where they were stocked.  A couple of Shepherds were there, the two cavaliers, and they sketched quick bows, sharing concern for the Exalt’s health that was waved away with a smile.  Tharja found heat spreading over her cheeks as the shock of seeing the Exalt in the armoury didn’t fade, especially when she was holding hands with the Plegian dark mage that had been giving everyone the creeps.  The dark mage cursed her pale face, the faulty body that she’d paid for in deeds and blood had never betrayed her like this before.  Tharja tried to pull her hand from the Exalt’s but the grip remained steady and the dark mage had to keep pace despite her ~~embarrassment~~ fever.  Someone had to have managed a curse on her, plagued her with a fever.  That explained the flush, the heartbeat.  

Finally, their fingers untangled and Tharja was shocked at how cold her hand felt now that the Exalt was no longer touching it.  She brought it up to her chest, cradled protectively in the other palm as if to hold on to the feeling.  Childish.  Tharja’s hands returned to her sides, fists closed to hide the shaking (and still trap that remembered warmth).  It would be beyond foolish to continue reacting emotionally.  Dangerous, even.  She needed to remove this cursed fever and focus on what was expected of her.  

The door they were in front of opened on squealing hinges (less used, not as many people find its contents useful, Tharja noted) and revealed the contents of the final room in the armory.  So many glorious tomes and spell materials covered the shelves and the tables inside the chamber.  There were no other dark magic users in the Shepherds, as they are almost exclusively Grimleal (and that she had become a part of them despite not renouncing her faith just made it easier to think them fools).  Still, they had clearly defeated quite a number, as tomes littered the surfaces, many of them already slightly used and rumpled, pages frayed at the edges but no less enticing.  Tharja couldn’t stifle her gasp at all the power that hummed around her.  Without thinking, she found her hands on a Mire tome, thin and already used but oh, how _far_ Tharja could reach with this. 

The Exalt’s laugh was so joyous for such a dark place and Tharja spun to look at the pleasure on the sage’s face.  Warmth crept up Tharja’s cheeks again, but somehow, the laughter only echoed what the dark mage was feeling. 

“We have no use for these, as I am sure you know, there is no other person who could use any of these tomes.  I know some are worn down, but you can have access to this room whenever you need a new tome.  The forging and repairing tables are outside in the main armoury, if you’d like to try to strengthen one or two of them.” 

Tharja had been told her smile, and her laugh, were frightening.  They only served to make the Exalt flush. 

“Thank you, Exalt, for this kind gift.  I will use them well.” 

Tharja bowed deeply, not even feigning the gratitude as she caressed the tome in her hands. 

 

**~**

 

_First Kiss_

 

As they wandered through the stalls, Emmeryn marvelled at how well the spell worked to disguise her.  No one knew the Exalt was among them.  Tharja had made her free.  No more responsibilities to a whole kingdom, no more treaties to negotiate.  It would be so easy to become addicted to being someone else, even if it took dark magic to do.  Tharja led her by the hand and they found their way past merchants of weapons, food, clothing, trinkets and more. 

When they passed a glassworker, Emmeryn’s eye caught on a crystal rose that hung in the back of the tent.  There and then gone, the bright sun dancing in sparkles from all over the tent distracted her and when she looked again, she could no longer see the rose.  Tharja tugged on her arm and Emmeryn followed the woman as she led her up to a rooftop terrace where traditional meals from around Ylisse and Plegia were prepared. 

Tharja wasn’t expecting the kiss, and that more than anything made Emmeryn freeze as well.  They both stood there, the sage slightly stooped to press her lips to the dark mage’s.  A tickle of breath passed along their lips and it was uncertain, shaky.  Neither pulled away.  Another heartbeat, two, and Tharja’s hands were pulling Emmeryn in. 

The soaring feeling made Emmeryn giggle as she let Tharja deepen the kiss.  It was wanted!  The sag of shoulders felt liberating.  The smaller frame pressed to hers, intoxicating.  This connection between them had built so slowly.  Unhurried, careful, _shy_ , that had been Emmeryn’s growing attraction to the dark mage.  And now it was finally able to overwhelm her without feeling dangerous, unwanted by the other. 

There was no longer any shyness in either of them when they parted, lips red and shining.  The wicked smile Tharja gave her was as beautiful as ever.  Instead of continuing the kissing, as Emmeryn had half hoped the smaller woman would do, Tharja merely took her Exalt’s hand and led them on their way to the table. 

The meal passed in near silence, eyes half closed as they savoured the food and the company.  Occasional giggles or sighs broke the silence, appreciative of the intimate surroundings.  Everything felt soft and hazy even as every bit of bright colour that tinted the dark mage’s cheeks stood out vividly in Emmeryn’s mind.  The splash of wine on her tongue felt rich as it hadn’t in years.  The tender spiced meat melted in her mouth.  Everything about this night was so very good.  The way periwinkle eyes observed her brought the flush she had learned to control at a young age to the surface and it bothered the Exalt not at all that her walls were crumbling.  The touch of Tharja’s hand was lighting, making everything sing with barley contained energy. 

When sweet lips pressed against hers, Emmeryn froze.  They were still in public!  But then, no one knew who she was.  Not with Tharja’s spell.  It took too long to think these thoughts, as the other woman was already pulling away.  Emmeryn put a hand to that pale, haunting face and drew her back in.  Tharja’s chuckle tickled the sage’s lips.   A small voice in Emmeryn’s mind told her that this was supposed to be their first kiss.  The Plegian had planned the date out perfectly and Emmeryn had to go and kiss her before the appointed time.  She couldn’t help her answering laughter.  Soon enough, the dark mage joined in and they broke apart, struggling for air. 

It was Emmeryn’s best second kiss ever. 

 

**~**

_New Reality_

 

It took far longer to adjust to the new normal than Emmeryn thought it would.  She had loved Tharja, just as she had loved her siblings, her people, her god.  Imprisoning her should not have been this hard, and yet, no matter what, something ached softly in her chest.  Preparations for the voyage were underway.  There was only one way this would end.  It was what Emmeryn wanted, but still thoughts of the journey made something sit heavy in her gut, wither in her heart. 

Robin had helped her gather all of Tharja’s things after her capture.  Tomes were returned to the armoury, anything useful and not clearly the Plegian’s repurposed.  Items that were personal Robin burned quickly along with the rest of her sorcerer’s wardrobe, Valflamme efficient and heartless.  Any sentimental gifts seemed to spear Emmeryn and she took pleasure in dashing the glass rose Tharja had enchanted with fragrances herself.  Anyone else would have said that the Exalt was in a rage at discovering Tharja’s intended betrayal. 

It was her own treachery Emmeryn could not stand to see. 

 

**~**

 

_Threats_

 

The livery was different, but the message the same.   “We love our Exalt more than you do.  If you harm her, we will not hesitate to make you suffer.”  As if they knew anything of suffering.  Their pathetic threats should not have bothered Tharja, and yet, here she was in Robin’s arms.  Sobbing like a disgusting child.  Robin had interrupted the latest threat, and there had been a dark look on the snow-haired woman’s face that sent a thrill down the sorcerer’s spine. 

Maybe it was that brief darkness that made her feel like crying.  She had not done this since she was a babe.  The Plegian was so engrossed in her shame that the hands petting her hair didn’t register until she was swaying into the familiar scent of books and flowers.  Soft fingers tangled her hair,fine nails tugging on strands.  Silk bunched under Tharja’s hands.  The taller woman bent to kiss the top of her head and the sorcerer growled even as she pressed closer. 

Somewhere beyond the red ~~shame~~ anger ~~humiliation~~ disdain she could hear Robin telling Emmeryn what she’d overheard.  The Grandmaster was offering to find the Lord responsible and see him punished, but Emm stopped her when Tharja shook her head.  Revenge, while beautiful, would decimate their forces even in this brief lull of peace.  Too many loved Emmeryn. 

Robin excused herself, no doubt still plotting a way to dissuade further threats.  Tharja, long past being able to stop, let the tears soak green silk robes.  The gentle petting didn’t end, but there was none of the hushing the smaller woman expected.  Exhausted, she slumped against her partner as the Exalt moved them through the corridor and into their chambers. 

As Tharja was tucked in (another thing that had not happened since infancy) her questioning noise must have been coherent enough because Emmeryn simply replied,

“I know you love me more than they do.”

 

**~**

****

_Temple_

 

The temple was wide open.  White floors, walls and columns sparkled in the sun, turning shadows into rainbows.  Peace radiated with every reflection from the prayer pools.  Ripples on their surface added to the iridescent dance flooding the chambers with light.  The steps up to the mountaintop temple were clean despite how long it had been since the temple saw such use.  All of Naga’s faithful had come.  Everything felt fresh, new, bright.  Rebirth echoed in the halls. 

In Emmeryn’s heart, the light waged war against the darkness.  Darkness, like her wife’s belief in Grima.  Light as her own faith in Naga.  Darkness, matching her wife’s hair.  Light, how they had touched the morning of their wedding.  Darkness as black as her grief.  Brilliance like the tears Emmeryn could not shed. 

The body on the altar in front of her would have looked peacefully asleep if not for the pale bright eyes staring at her.  Emmeryn did not let herself falter under the gaze.  Naga had waited so long, long enough.  As the Divine Dragon’s most devoted, there could be no other way.  This task fell to Emmeryn from the day she was born. 

The echo of thousands of voices carried their words to the sleeping Dragon.  The murmurs were taken up by so many speakers as to deafen the Exalt.  Perhaps that was for the best, to inhibit all sound from the figure before her.  Emmeryn could feel the power growing around her, building, knew Tharja could feel it too. 

It was time. 

A knife had never been Emmeryn’s way, but gods as old as Naga still expected certain things.  Strangely, the blood was just as bright as everything else in the temple, awash in Naga’s blessings.  Now Chrom could complete the Awakening. 

 

**~**

 

_Proposal_

 

Tharja enjoyed the smells of the city.  Ylisstol, unlike Plegia’s capital, was bathed in fresher smells.  There was something warm, clean and growing in this city.  It felt as if the city, her new home, knew how much like her new life it was.  And what a life it was.  A respected member of the Shepherds, a truly powerful sorcerer who defended the people of this kingdom, this continent.  A chance at love.  Life had never been kind to Tharja before Emmeryn. 

Emmeryn.  Emmeryn of House Ylisse.  Emmeryn of House Ylisse and current Exalt. 

The most wonderful, caring, gentle, strong woman Tharja had ever met.  Emm had taught Tharja that strength did not mean violence.  Power did not have to come with pain.  Kindness was not weakness.  The very principles of her life had been reversed and though the dark allure of Grima’s power was always in her heart, it would not rebel against the joy she had found next to the sage.  Love truly did change things. 

Someday Ylisse would fall to the Fell Dragon.  It was inevitable.  Tharja would thrill to play a part in his rise.  But it would not be for some time.  The sorcerer could not yet scry it in her future.  She could live her life with Emmeryn in peace, knowing that the time of betrayal was distant as the horizon.  If it were asked of her, she would sacrifice the Exalt and the Shepherds tomorrow without a tear.  The relief at not having to was as heady as using Goetia. 

Emm’s laugh drew her out of her thoughts and back to the stalls they were visiting.  The different fragrances danced in the air, perfumed fabrics laced with the scented oils fluttered in the wind and Tharja could see glass charms at the next stall over.  Somewhere nearby something delicious was being prepared and Tharja’s mouth watered.  Emm’s eyes sparkled like peridot as she caressed the scarf in front of her, gliding the silk along her cheek. 

The sorcerer couldn’t help but kiss the spot traced by the scarf.  Emmeryn blushed so prettily. 

Once a price had been haggled (and hexed) out of the merchant, Emmeryn took Tharja’s hand and linked their arms.  The blonde led the pair through an archway and up some stairs.  A glorious meal awaited them and the sorcerer was stunned to see that they were exactly where, so long ago, she had planned the perfect date so she could finally kiss Emmeryn for the first time. 

“I can’t possibly let you have all the firsts, now can I?” murmured Tharja as she gracefully dropped to her knees.  She held out the ring and a crystal rose, fingers shaking (it was just the flickers of torchlight). 

Emmeryn giggled and sank down to her knees as well, extending the golden band she had in her palm. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my love.  Will you be mine, even if I did ask second?”

Tharja said yes with a kiss, knowing Grima would not come for her for a long time. 

 

**~**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings include mild (briefly mentioned) sexual content and major character death (non-graphic). 
> 
> Written for Day 1 prompts Betrayal/Religious/Restoration. 
> 
> Tharja's wedding dress inspired by [ this photo. ](http://smudgethistle.tumblr.com/post/183334783742/themakeupbrush-galia-lahav-spring-2017)
> 
> Find me [ on tumblr. ](www.tinbramblearts.tumblr.com)


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